


Everything Matters

by simplesetgo



Category: Legend of the Seeker
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-02
Updated: 2011-02-02
Packaged: 2017-10-18 01:08:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/183303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplesetgo/pseuds/simplesetgo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PWLF = Porn With Lots of Feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything Matters

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Porn Battle XI, prompts illicit and table.

It is silent in the Confessor’s Sanctum. The cavernous chamber echoes with her sigh and her footsteps as she enters. A single shaft of moonlight from the roof is flooding the wide room in silvery light, making Kahlan feel like she’s stepped into another world. She nearly wishes she has.

Thick, heavy tapestries hang over her head. Nearly a hundred crowd the ceiling—each bearing the likeness of a past Mother Confessor of the Midlands. She knows that her mother’s is somewhere above, as is Serena’s, but rather than searching for them she finds herself at the front of the room.

A single desk, sturdy but unassuming in design and structure, waits for her there. It is nearly three thousand years old—Magda Searus, the first Mother Confessor, was evidently ruthlessly efficient. She ruled from behind the small table for years before the throne and chambers of judgment were finished—at which time this room was built in turn and the desk retired here.

Piled along the back of it, in neat stacks, are small scrolls bearing the words of advice each Mother Confessor chose to leave for her successors. The older leather cases are worn with age. She reaches for the one that is second-newest, having no interest in Serena’s words. Her mother couldn’t have known that one of her daughters would become Mother Confessor, but maybe there were meanings between the lines that were meant for her. Just in case. She gingerly takes the scroll from its case, carefully unrolls it, but a sound behind her startles her and she drops it, turning. “Cara!” she gasps. “You can’t be in here.”

The Mord-Sith stares at her from the doorway. “Why not?”

“This is the Confessor’s Sanctum! It would be unlawful.”

Cara looks down, as if there were an imaginary line on the floor, and then she does what Kahlan knows she does best. She steps across it. Kahlan groans. “Only Confessors have been allowed in this room for thousands of years, Cara,” she informs her. “If you keep abusing your privileges as my mate I’ll have to remove them.”

“My vows didn’t involve following every little rule and law of Aydindril,” Cara says, walking to her slowly. Her red leather gleams in the soft light, somehow looking more menacing. “They were to you, not your city.”

“I am my city,” Kahlan says quietly, reminded of what brought her here in the first place. She turns away and places the scroll back in its case.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Cara says behind her. “Am I supposed to know what I’ve done?”

Kahlan lets her eyes close, guilt washing over her like a flood. “You haven’t done anything,” she says softly. “I haven’t been avoiding you. I’ve been...busy.” The truth comes out sounding like a pathetic excuse, and Kahlan realizes it is one.

“You leave our bed in the middle of the night to come here—where I’m not supposed to follow. How is that not avoiding me?”

She finds Cara’s face every bit as stoic as she expected. It somehow hurts her more. “I needed somewhere to think,” she tries to explain. “This place was built to ease the burden a Mother Confessor feels. I didn’t know it would be like this, Cara. I’ve been a Confessor for most of my life, but now I exist to decide the fates of others. It is my purpose when I wake up in the morning. It weighs on my shoulders and my mind like I never expected.”

Cara is silent for a moment. Kahlan can tell she’s trying to think of something helpful to say, something comforting. This is why she doesn’t share her burdens with Cara—comfort is not the blonde’s strong point, and it is more stressful to watch her try than anything else. “You don’t need to,” Kahlan begins, interrupting herself when Cara cocks her hips suddenly. Crosses her arms.

“Who raised the tapestries?”

Kahlan blinks. “What?”

“You said no one has been here but Confessors for thousands of years. Am I to believe a troop of Confessors bring in a great ladder and hang a tapestry once every few years?”

“I…don’t know,” Kahlan answers honestly. She looks around the room, suddenly at a loss. “Maybe it’s magic,” she offers.

“Mmhm,” Cara hums, clearly unconvinced. She steps forward, hesitantly, and Kahlan suddenly realizes it has been nearly a week since she's even kissed Cara. She closes the rest of the distance herself with a single step, raising a hand to Cara’s face, feeling the warmth of the body that she had begun to take for granted in her bed.

“None of what I am feeling is your fault,” Kahlan says softly. “Well, none of the bad things.”

Cara smirks. “I make you feel good things?”

“Always,” Kahlan says, and then she catches Cara’s meaning. She opens her mouth to clarify, but Cara darts her head forward and kisses her and she ends up making small meaningless sounds into Cara’s mouth instead.

It has been days.

Her body reminds her of this as she presses herself closer to Cara, wrapping arms around her neck and deepening the kiss. For now, her existence isn’t about deciding someone’s fate. It’s about seeing whose tongue can reach further into the other’s mouth. Kahlan is winning.

Then Cara is pressing harder against her lips, urging her backward with her body, and she feels cool wood against the backs of her thighs. She pulls away to protest, but Cara is already hitching up her dress, pushing and lifting. The desk creaks rather loudly as Kahlan’s weight settles on it. “Cara,” she whispers furiously. “Do you whose desk this was?”

“Likely someone long dead,” Cara says, and then she meaningfully holds the back of Kahlan’s head as she kisses her. _No escape_ , it says. Kahlan can’t help but give in a little, crossing her legs tightly around Cara’s backside, holding her in place in turn. Cara hums against her lips, and Kahlan’s thoughts take a turn toward the frightfully impure and unchaste as the blonde slips a hand down, over her body, to rub at the fabric between her thighs.

Kahlan groans. “We can’t do this here.”

“We already are,” Cara whispers into her ear, and presses _hard_ with her gloved fingertips. Kahlan inhales sharply as raw heat courses through her veins. She looks up to see the severe face of Magda Searus gazing down at her from the largest tapestry in the room and promptly squeezes her eyes shut, burying her face in Cara’s shoulder.

“ _Cara_ ,” she protests, her voice muffled, and the blonde takes it as license to go further. Her fingers work through layers of material between Kahlan’s legs, pushing and angling their way through to find naked skin. Kahlan’s own fingers clutch tightly at Cara’s back, and she gasps when Cara finally takes her. It’s feverish and pointed and thankfully quick—her body takes everything Cara gives her, and it’s not a moment longer that she’s coming undone with prickling skin, clenching thighs, and a gush of wetness around Cara’s fingers. “Spirits,” Kahlan mumbles after catching her breath, following with a noise of protest when Cara steps back, leaving her feeling cold and empty. She sees movement up above and notices the closest tapestries swaying gently. Her face whitens. “Cara,” she hisses, jerking her head up.

Cara shrugs. “Your Confessor magic,” she says, and it doesn’t make Kahlan feel any better. The faces above are all staring at her disapprovingly, and the movement makes them seem alive.

“We have to go,” Kahlan says urgently, hopping down and grabbing Cara’s hand. “Now.”

Cara suddenly looks like she might laugh, and Kahlan whips her head around to follow her gaze. There’s a small dark spot on the wood of the table where she was sitting. She feels the generous, lingering wetness between her thighs with acute clarity and realizes it’s not a dark spot. It is a damp spot.

She looks back to Cara, her eyes wide. Cara seems inordinately amused and quite pleased with herself as she holds up her hand, two fingers and palm gleaming wet. “You left a mark on your precious table,” she says, grinning widely now. “Maybe you won’t need a tapestry.”

Kahlan’s lashes flutter and apparently she looks like she might faint, because Cara is suddenly right there with supportive hands on Kahlan’s sides. She imagines this is what it must have felt like to be a schoolgirl caught kissing a boy—the feeling of dread in her stomach mixed with a strange sense of excitement. She has never felt anything quite like it before. She tugs Cara into a jog as they leave and feels herself smiling.

“Did you need anything?” Cara asks at the doorway. “One of the scrolls was open.”

Kahlan smiles a little wider and realizes it’s been days since she’s done that, too. “I don’t need scrolls or a quiet room,” she says. “I have you.”

****

They have to pass by the chambers of judgment on the way back to Kahlan’s personal rooms, and they duck inside the dark and massive room at Kahlan’s behest. “Wait here,” she whispers, and nods toward the shadows. Cara throws her a confused look but obeys, sliding behind the ornate throne. Kahlan’s quick steps take her to the single night sentry leaning against the wall at the entrance to the chambers. “Guard,” she calls out, and he starts awake with a splutter.

“Mother Confessor,” he forces out. “I was just—”

“I have a private judgment,” she interrupts. “The other door is locked, but ensure that no one passes this one until we are done.”

He nods curtly and steps outside the room. “Mother Confessor,” he says, and the massive doors swing shut with a rush of air.

The feeling of excitement is back.

She turns to find Cara waiting, hands on her hips and head canted. “Until we are _done_ ,” she echoes softly. “Done doing what, Kahlan?”

Kahlan bites her lip and nods at her throne, trying not to blush. “Sit. I’m going to…take you on my chair.”

Honest surprise flashes across Cara’s features, but she quickly schools them into her familiar smirk. She takes her time strolling to the dais, then settles on the throne as if it were hers and hers alone. Kahlan can’t believe how comfortable she looks. She climbs up after Cara, sitting in and straddling her lap, facing her, and cups her neck while she kisses her. “I’m sorry I ignored you,” Kahlan whispers, and lets one hand drop to Cara’s thighs. “I was too caught up in being a good Confessor to be good to you.” She works on the hidden catch in Cara’s leathers and slips her hand inside them. Cara grunts her approval, leaning forward to suck a kiss from Kahlan’s collarbone and wind a hand in her hair. “I would also apologize for hurting your feelings,” Kahlan continues, “but you’ll just insist you don’t have any.” Cara makes a sound of indifference against her neck, and Kahlan smiles and twists her wrist to get an angle. Then she takes Cara with every bit of the fervor and haste she received not moments ago.

Cara falls back, gasping at the sudden penetration, clutching at Kahlan’s shoulders so tight it almost hurts, and Kahlan has to cover her mouth with her free hand. “Quiet,” she whispers urgently, and Cara whimpers against her palm—loudly. Kahlan is no stranger to the intricacies of Cara’s body, and it’s not long before she has Cara squirming underneath her, caught in the spasms of her release.

Kahlan lets her forehead rest against Cara’s own as the blonde comes down, and they share breaths of silence before Cara speaks. “Kahlan…I would carry the weight of this throne on my back for you,” she whispers.

Kahlan closes her eyes for a moment as her heart swells. “I won’t ask you to,” she whispers back, kissing Cara’s lips. “I just might need help from time to time.”

“Good,” Cara says. “I might strain something. It strikes me as heavy.”

She smiles at Cara. “It is.”

They share the throne for just a moment longer.


End file.
